


coffee stains

by crashing_into_the_sun



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, M/M, Normal AU, One Shot, Romance, kind of also an american au?, they use dollars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 12:41:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12059193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crashing_into_the_sun/pseuds/crashing_into_the_sun
Summary: You shouldn't flirt with the barista, but it's okay if the barista flirts with you.





	coffee stains

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I'm so, so sorry that I haven't uploaded anything in so long! I will, at some point, probably update my longer fics (delirium and Junior Year) but unfortunately, that isn't promised. Life has caught up to me, but in the meantime, have this cute oneshot I wrote! :)

The autumn chill followed Baz into the Starbucks and nestled itself into his bones. He hadn’t been planning on stopping but Crowley, it was freezing out, and the pleasant smell of cinnamon was beckoning him. His wallet protested, but in the end his frozen fingertips won this battle. 

 

It was a busy day, all bustle and noise, but Baz found it strangely comforting. It was nice to witness all this controlled chaos, to hear the unintelligible chatter, to know that in this setting, he wasn’t all that important. There was nothing riding on him, standing alone in the middle of a Starbucks. He was utterly average.

 

The line was kind of long, but Baz didn’t mind so much. He had nowhere better to be, and his basic-white-girl side was taking over- the cinnamon scent had given him an intense craving for a pumpkin spice latte. He tightened his scarf around his neck and allowed himself to relax into this place. He’d never been to this Starbucks before (he lived on the other side of town), but he thought it had a nice vibe. The people were all talking happily to one another, and almost everyone was smiling. In front of him was a tired-looking mom with twins in a stroller. Her husband rested his hand on her elbow- Baz smiled a tiny smile.

 

When there were only a few people in front of him, Baz could see the baristas. One of them, a short, chubby girl with bright purple hair, looked to be bossing the other around. The other barista was endearingly frazzled, like this was his first day on the job. He moved around so quickly Baz couldn’t follow him, and knocked a few things over in the process. His cheeks were flushed and freckled, and underneath his uniform hat his hair stood out in golden coils from his head, adding to the comedic effect of his frantic state.

 

“No, Simon, she said a venti,” the short girl muttered as Simon grabbed a grande cup. Baz chuckled to himself.

 

“What can I get for you today?” The male barista (Simon, Baz thought) asked. He sounded out of breath. Baz grinned.

 

“One tall pumpkin spice latte,” Baz said, eyeing the menu. “And an apple fritter."

 

“Will that be all?” 

 

Baz nodded.

 

“Can I get your name?”

 

“Tyrannus Basilton,” Baz said, ignoring the shell-shocked look in Simon’s eyes. He liked to pick on the baristas sometimes.

 

“I- I…” He began, but stopped, scribbling something on the cup that Baz was pretty sure was not his name. “That’ll be $8.13.”

 

Baz fished for the cash in his wallet and handed it over, noting the slight shake in Simon’s hands. “First day?” 

 

“Is it that obvious?” Simon replied. “I’m getting the hang of it though…I think.” He started piecing together Baz’s drink, still talking though he faced away from him. “I definitely know how to make a PSL, though.” Though Baz couldn’t see it, he could hear the smile in Simon’s voice.

 

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out,” Baz said, trying (and failing) not to admire the muscles he could see sliding underneath Simon’s t-shirt.

 

“We’ll see about that,” Simon said, swirling whipped topping onto his creation. He looked at it, pleased, and turned around to look at Baz.

 

It felt like slow motion.

 

Simon spun around just a little too fast, put the top on the latte just a little too late- and spilled the entire thing all over Baz. It soaked through his sweatshirt and his scarf and his workout tank top, splashed all over his face, got into his hair. He stood there open mouthed, covered in sugar and stickiness. Shock had rendered him silent. Simon froze like a statue.

 

“Oh my goodness, I am so sorry,” he gushed, grabbing napkins by the fistful from the nearest dispenser. “Penny,” he called. “Can someone take over for me for a minute?”

 

The purple haired girl came out to the front again and stared at Baz, hopelessly trying to mop up the orangey-brown mess all over him. She looked like she was going to chastise Simon, but the remark died on her tongue when she saw how wide and wet his eyes were. “Yes,” she responded, defeated. Simon smiled, tearful but grateful, and whipped out from behind the counter.

 

“Come on,” he motioned to Baz, walking towards the bathroom. Baz dug pumpkin-spice crud out of his eyes. “I can’t apologize enough, really.”

 

Baz found his voice. “It’s alright, really. It’s just an old sweatshirt… I needed a shower anyway.” He laughed. Simon managed a small smile.

 

“Here, take that nasty thing off,” Simon insisted, motioning towards the sweatshirt. He undid his apron and removed his white t-shirt, revealing a black tank top and marvelous, tan shoulders. Baz choked on his own spit. Simon held the shirt out like a peace offering.

 

“A-are you sure?” Baz stuttered, eyes still locked on Simon’s broad shoulders and muscular arms. He wasn’t sure he could handle this. He was having difficulty remembering how to breathe.

 

“Of course,” Simon said. “I’m sure I’ve screwed up your day enough, without you having to walk home in the cold in a wet hoodie.”

 

Baz’s arms were weighed down with lead. He forced them to shrug out of his ruined sweatshirt and tug it over his head. “Really, don’t sweat it,” he said, but took the shirt gratefully. His tank top was soaked, too, so he reached behind him and pulled it off, trying to ignore the cold air, and the heat in his cheeks. Simon’s gaze seemed charged, the whole atmosphere seemed buzzing with electricity. Baz looked down at the floor as he slipped Simon’s shirt over him, letting it settle softly down onto his shoulders. When he looked up, Simon was the color of a fire engine.

 

“Um. Um,” Simon stuttered, golden eyelashes fluttering at a mile a minute. He let out an incoherent sound that Baz thought might be a word- possibly not in English- then shook his head like a wet dog. He looked as though trying to shake something out of his mind. 

 

“Okay..” Baz said uncertainly, folding up the sweatshirt and tank top and putting them on his arm. “When can I get this back to you?” He hooked his finger into the collar of the shirt.

 

“Let me just get you another coffee- on the house, I’ll give you your money back. Then we’ll talk.” He whisked out of the bathroom, and Baz followed him, slightly dazed. Without even bothering to tie his apron up again, he went to the cash register and retrieved the eight dollars (along with Baz’s apple fritter) and mixed him up another drink. This time, he carried it gingerly over, to a comical degree. Baz had to fight the giggle he felt in the back of his throat.

 

“I’m taking my break,” Simon called out as they handed Baz the drink, looking to Penny for approval. She nodded.

 

“Fifteen minutes, Snow,” she called back, trying (failing) to sound irritated.

 

They made their way to a corner booth next to a window, where the sun streamed in and hit Simon’s hair just so, making it look like individual strands of gold. Baz sipped pleasantly on his latte, admiring Simon in a way not entirely ignored by the other boy.

 

“Listen,” Simon started after a few minutes of small talk. He fiddled with a hair tie wrapped around his wrist, and Baz couldn’t help but picture him with his tawny curls subdued in a messy bun, ringlets falling around his freckled face. “This isn’t exactly standard work protocol, but I’m going to give you my number, alright? You have to get the shirt back somehow…” He trailed off, like there was more he wanted to say. Baz leaned forward.

 

“And maybe we could go for coffee, or something?” Simon spat the words out like they’d been burning his tongue, glancing demurely at Baz through his eyelashes.

 

“Only if you promise not to spill it on me,” Baz joked. Simon beamed, reaching over and grabbing the PSL cup out of his hands. He unhooked a marker from the belt loops of his jeans and scrawled a number on the cup in jagged-edged, childlike handwriting. 

 

“Simon!” Penny called from the kitchen. Simon jumped. He set the cup down next to Baz and began fastening the ties of his apron around his neck. “Time to get back to work.”

 

“Text me-”

 

“I’ll text you-”

 

They laughed, having spoken at the same time, and then Simon turned away. Baz watched the slight sway of his hips as he went back to the counter, sipping on his drink through a smile.

 

Today turned out to be a better day than he’d thought.


End file.
